


A Mother Always Knows

by RadientWings



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (...actually scratch that; this is definitely canon compliant then), (apart from the glaring fact that steve and bucky are obviously gay for each other), (well mostly), 1920s, 1930s, Angst, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Brooklyn boys in love, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Childhood, Families of Choice, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Outsider, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, sarah rogers didn't raise no fools, sarah rogers was the best mother and no one can tell me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15238170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadientWings/pseuds/RadientWings
Summary: Sarah Rogers only gave birth to a single child, but the world should have known that she helped raise two sons.(OR: Bucky through Sarah's eyes)





	A Mother Always Knows

Sarah Rogers would never forget the day she met James Barnes. After all, it was the start of a different life for her and her son; not that she realized it at the time, of course. 

The day had started off as usual – better even, thanks to Steve’s rare bout of good health. He’d kissed and hugged her goodbye that morning, smile missing two front teeth in the way that many six-year-olds did.

Sarah had to trust him to make it to school by himself, not having enough time before she was needed on the ward to see him off herself. Every day it was the same and every day Sarah worried. Her son had always been a sickly little boy with a lion’s heart and courage. Admirable, it was true, but all too dangerous. Too many times had she come home to find her baby sporting a bleeding lip and tear-filled eyes.

Steve only ever let himself cry when he spotted her, only let himself be the child he was when she could hold him.

Every time it broke her heart. _Every_ time. Her little boy was six and he was always sick and hurt, but _God_ he was braver than any grown man or woman she’d ever known. Yet, he was cursed to fight his battles all alone, too strong-willed and ‘odd’ for the neighborhood children to even attempt to befriend him. Sarah hated it, she _hated_ it. 

Steve had been the one miracle in her short, hard life. She’d been just eighteen when she bore him to a husband she barely knew, but married out of the desperation. She’d been nineteen when she was widowed, holding onto a tiny, sickly baby with all the strength and love she could muster, an ocean away from everything she knew.

The doctors had told her to not expect him to live long. Sarah had promptly told them that she would do no such thing, and worked herself half to death to keep her boy’s heart beating, his lungs breathing. Three years in, she’d managed to become a nurse and, though it was difficult work, it made caring for Steve incrementally easier.

Still, she hated to leave him in the morning, when she went to the hospital and he went to school with children who refused to understand him. It was for that reason that she was hurt but not surprised to find her Steve with fresh bruises when she came home that one fateful afternoon.

“Oh, Steve.” 

She immediately hovered over him, readying herself for the hitching sobs that were sure to come, readying herself for yet another small heartbreak.

But instead, she found her son grinning at her with a split lip, a happy light in the blue eyes he’d inherited from her. 

“Ma! You’ll never guess–” he started, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps and an unfamiliar voice.

“Hey, Steve, gotcha that cold cloth–” 

The unfamiliar boy in front of them stopped suddenly, having finally spotted her at Steve’s side, hand still clutching one of Sarah’s kitchen towels, wet and dripping. Like Steve, he bore the signs of a recent tussle, otherwise clean and well-fitted clothes ripped and dirtied with spots of blood. The boy was bigger than her son (as most children were), but seemed to be around his age. There was something mischievous about his blue eyes, even as they gaped at her.

Sarah blinked at the sight of him, her mind slow to understand what was going on.

“Steve, darling, who’s this?” she finally asked, hoping she sounded relatively unfazed by this turn in events. She had rarely, if ever, seen Steve interact with other children; she didn’t want to scare this boy off… even if he was in her apartment without her knowledge.

“James Buchanan Barnes, Mrs. Rogers,” the boy – _James_ – said before her Steve could. He stuck out a small hand, lips pulled up in a cheeky grin. “Steve’s pal. Pleased to meet ya.”

Sarah couldn’t help but smile back at him, taking his hand gently in her own for a quick shake. _Steve’s pal_ , she thought with no small amount of wonder and relief. “It’s nice to meet you too, James. Now, why don’t you tell me what trouble my son got into today?”

“Stevie didn’t do nothin’ wrong!” James immediately came to Steve’s defense. “I swear, Mrs. Rogers. It wasn’t his fault!”

Sarah tried for stern, but only found her smile widening. “Oh?”

“Yeah, a coupla bullies were pushin’ Ellie Johnson ‘round and Stevie pushed ‘em right back but they _deserved_ it. I went to help him. Ain’t right to hit a lil’ guy like that.”

“Ain’t a lil’ guy, Buck,” Steve grumbled from behind them, looking angry and put out at the statement. 

James stepped past Sarah to stand by her son. “Sure you are, Stevie, but ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. Just gotta hit harder. ‘Sides ya got me now.” He nudged the smaller boy softly. 

Steve’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowed into a stubborn glare Sarah was all too familiar with. “Don’t need no help.”

For a moment she was worried her boy – her beautiful, _pigheaded_ boy – would be the one to scare off this new friend, but James just rolled his eyes.

“You told me,” he said. “But s’all right, I wanna help. S’what friends do, my ma said.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve finally let out, as if surprised.

Sarah could have cried at the awed look on his face. Her poor boy, so lonely that he didn’t even recognize friendship when it was offered. But that was a thought for later; this was an important moment for Steve. She couldn’t go ruining it by _crying_ , of all things. 

“Now, normally I wouldn’t condone fighting – which you know by now, Steven Rogers,” Sarah gave her a son a brief look, “but seems like you boys did the right thing this time... so how about I get you cleaned up and cook up some dinner? Maybe you two can even help me make some pie.”

Sarah had planned to save the apples she’d bought for her birthday this weekend, but it was an easy sacrifice to make in the face of all this; just meant she got to have her pie a little sooner.

“Pie? Really? That’s swell, Ma!” Steve exclaimed, perking up.

“Really, Mrs. Rogers?” James asked, wide-eyed.

Sarah couldn’t help but laugh at their eagerness; growing children were a predictable sort. “Of course! Now I can’t promise this every time you’re here, James, but today’s special.”

“How come?”

“Well, you saved my boy. I’d say that’s special.”

James went a bit red and looked down at his shuffling feet, smiling shyly. “Aw thanks, Mrs. Rogers. Wasn’t nothin’.”

Well, Sarah certainly didn’t agree with that last statement (it was definitely more than _nothing_ , to both her and Steve), but she decided to let it go. This time.

The boys spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Steve’s meager toys and their collective imagination; Sarah smiled at the loud sound of their game – it seemed to involve some sort of epic battle – unfamiliar with the racket of two children at play. She could get used to this.

Come dinner, they helped set up the small table, both boys finishing the Sarah’s stew in record time. The pie-making was messy but fun and, most importantly of all, it left both boys laughing in delight.

That night, after James left, her boy finally gave in and cuddled into her, fitting perfectly into the crook of her arm as they listened to the radio – the one indulgence Sarah had allowed herself. She held Steve close, fingers gentle as they ran through his soft blonde hair. Steve’s arms were locked around her waist, even as his eyes finally began drooping.

Some of the other nurses didn’t understand Sarah’s softness with her son – she was coddling him too much, they said. She’d make him a soft man, a _weak_ man, they said.

(“He ain’t a little girl,” Dottie had told her just last week, after Sarah had said she’d allowed Steve to sleep by her side after a bad dream.)

 _Well_ , Sarah thought, _I’d rather have him be a soft man than a mean one_.

She was going to raise her son right. He wasn’t going to be like the toughs who worked down at the docks and thought that any passing girl was a puppet for their amusement. Her Steve would have respect for all other people, no matter who they were.

And, God help her, he was going to be allowed to let his feelings out; at the very least with _her_. His body was already sick, ‘lesser’… his mind, his _soul_ , wouldn’t be. 

Steve was a good boy, and he sure as hell was going to be a good man. 

Sarah was just glad she wasn’t the only one who seemed to think so anymore.

“I made a friend, Ma,” Steve said for the hundredth time that night, voice slurred with sleep. He still couldn’t believe it.

Sarah kissed his blonde hair. “I know, sunshine, I know.” 

He slept well that night, tuckered out from play rather than another fight. Sarah couldn’t have been happier for it.

 

* * *

 

“Mrs. Rogers!” 

Sarah turned to the voice almost as soon as she heard it, nearly dropping the full bag of groceries in the process. She smiled when she saw none other than Bucky Barnes running to her, all limbs and endless energy.

At fourteen, Bucky was already growing into a man’s body, having shot up in height over the past year. He stood a good three inches above her already, though that didn’t say much, considering Sarah’s admittedly tiny stature. His brown hair was slicked back in the new style, blue eyes alight with mischief as he approached her. 

“Care for a hand, ma’am?” he asked with a dramatic flourish and that charming grin Steve told her was turning all the girls’ heads. 

Sarah laughed, handing Bucky the heavy bag. “Why thank you, young master Barnes.”

Bucky tipped a faux hat. “You’re welcome, my lady. Wouldn’t wanna leave a fine dame like you unattended.”

“Charmer,” Sarah said in reply, even as she linked her arm through his offered one.

Bucky chatted with her, walking the path to the Rogers residence with all the ease of close family. Which, she supposed, he really was by now.

It had been seven years since Steve and Bucky had befriended each other through their mutual reckless bravery. Seven years, and still Bucky was Steve’s only steadfast friend. Oh, there had been a few other playmates over the years (mostly thanks to Bucky’s undeniable charisma and magnetism), but they came and went. No, Bucky was the only regular visitor the Rogers’ had. Sarah had become quite good friends with his mother, Winnie Barnes, as a result, but the other woman had two girls at home to look after with another on the way, leaving little time for anything else. 

If anything, Winnie seemed grateful for Sarah to have Bucky with her and away from his father. And Sarah was all too happy to have Bucky keep her and Steve company.

Sarah could never have more children, despite her relative youth (she was only thirty-one); her health simply wouldn’t allow it, not to mention the fact that she wouldn’t be re-marrying any time soon. So it was nice to have her two boys at home, always laughing and bickering.

She looked up at Bucky now, smiling and nodding along as he animatedly told her about Steve’s genius in history class, a few weeks before. (Her boy always had a head for military tactics, having read every book about it that he could get his hands on. She suspected it was his way of being close to the father he’d never met.)

Bucky was turning into quite the looker, Sarah knew. He had always been a beautiful child, but he was sure to be an unusually handsome man; much like his father had been, before the drink had made him ugly, inside and out. Sarah found herself clutching Bucky’s arm a little tighter at the thought. What she would do to protect him from that man, but Sarah had very little control of the situation. And Bucky wouldn’t want her interfering, besides.

“How is he, anyways?” Bucky finally asked, breaking through her thoughts.

 _I knew he’d get there eventually_. In all honesty, Sarah was shocked he’d waited this long to ask, considering how worried he’d been the last month.

Steve had been hit with pneumonia the past few weeks, drifting in and out of fevered consciousness, flooded lungs struggling for breath. It had been a close one this time – Sarah had almost been ready to call on the priest on more than on occasion. Thankfully, _miraculously_ , Steve’s fever broke a couple days ago and, while he was still bed bound, he could sit up and hold conversations (and get frustrated about his lack of mobility, which was always a sure sign her son was getting better). 

Sarah wasn’t sure how she would have coped the past few weeks without Bucky; he’d been the one to take over caring for Steve when she had to go to work, not able to avoid it any longer for fear of getting fired. He’d missed two weeks of school as a result, bless him, so when Steve showed signs of improving, she’d sent Bucky off with a few stern words about the importance of education. (Though, with the way things were in his family, she wasn’t sure how long he could continue going to school – his sisters and his ma needed to be fed, and his father was becoming more and more unreliable, so she was sure Bucky was thinking of finding a job. How she wished he didn’t have to sacrifice himself so, but Sarah could barely afford to keep her and Steve alive and under a roof, especially with constant fear of medical bills.) 

Bucky had been reluctant to return to class without Steve, of course, but he’d done it at her behest. He also went to sleep in his own bed for the first time in weeks, no longer keeping watch in the old armchair that was sat next to Steve’s small cot.

Sarah could see the undeniable worry in Bucky’s eyes now, though it was more muted than it had been in a while.

“Better and better every day now,” she said, “I’m sure he’ll appreciate you visiting, darling.”

Bucky went a bit red – as he always did when she gave called him that particular pet name – and sighed in relief.

“I got some of his schoolwork with me. I can help him with it today _and_ I’ll make sure he doesn’t just doodle all over his workbook.”

“You’re far too generous, darling, you really are.”

He ducked his head. “Ain’t a problem, Mrs. Rogers.”

“Still, we’d be lost without you,” Sarah insisted. Bucky shrugged a bit, still unable to take a compliment; oh he could charm the pants off just about anyone, but hearing a kind word tended to turn him into a bit of a red mess. Sarah often made it her mission to do just that.

Before they knew it, they were walking up the stairs of Sarah’s apartment building, Bucky still holding the bag. Meredith Walters passed them by with her three little tykes following; they were good neighbors to her, always offering a smile and a hand. Others might have scoffed at them, considering their dark skin, but Sarah appreciated the difficulties of mothering a child alone, let alone three. 

Of course, the children were naturally rowdy and they hardly watched where they were going, one of them bumping full speed into Bucky as he passed. The little boy – Elliot – called out an apology as he continued to thunder down the steps.

Sarah laughed a bit, turning back to Bucky to share a joke, only to find him white as a sheet, fingers gripping the bag too tight. Sarah felt her heart break a little. 

She knew exactly what was wrong. 

“James, put the bag down, darling,” Sarah said, voice soft but firm.

He did, slowly slowly, clearly aching. He didn’t dare meet her eyes. Sarah hated that this was done to him. _Hated_ it. 

She was gentle as she lifted the edge of his shirt, old and new bruising littering his stomach; every curse Sarah knew went through her head. She hadn’t seen it this bad in a long, _long_ time. “ _Dear Lord_. I thought your father has been gone the past couple months?” 

He smoothed his shirt back down, looking for all the world as if nothing happened, color returning to his cheeks. “Yeah, guess he thought it was about time he came back.” 

Sarah could see right through it. “Darling, you know it’s not your fault. Drink can make even the best of men violent.”

Then there was anger in his eyes, adamant and _years_ in the making. The kind of anger that brought tears forth. “He ain’t good though, he _ain’t_.”

Sarah took his hands in hers. “I know. I know.”

“I just wish he’d stay _away_ ,” he confessed, voice cracking in the way boys his age did. “It ain’t fair to Ma.”

“To you either.”

Bucky said nothing at that, wiping angrily at a few stray tears.

“Come on, let’s got some ice on that; it’ll help with that swelling.”

Bucky immediately let go of her hands, shaking his head vehemently, working himself into a panic. “No, I don’t want Steve to know. He’s gonna wanna punch him and I hate arguin’ when he’s sick. Stevie’s got enough to worry about.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t tell him this time. How’s about we take care of it when he falls asleep then? I’m not letting you go without at least getting some ice on it,” she added, raising a no-nonsense brow the boys had learned to always listen to.

Bucky hesitated, but finally nodded once.

“Good. That’s good.” 

He nodded again, face crumpling, tears breaking loose. For all his growth the past couple of years, he was still just a boy.

“Oh sweetheart, come here,” Sarah said, holding her arms open. Bucky went quickly, burying his face in her neck, arms strong around her. Sarah, for her part, kept her grip on him gentle, didn’t want to aggravate all the blue and purple he hid under his shirt. 

“I want him gone. I want him gone _so_ _bad_.”

She ran a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. And he will be. One thing I’ve learned in life is that bad men always get their due, one way or another.” Especially men like George Barnes, who thought that the fact they could talk their way out of anything meant they were entitled to do whatever they wanted.

She rocked Bucky back and forth a bit, trying to soothe him with the gentle sway. _Lord_ , she wished she could do more, wished she could give George a piece of her mind. But Bucky would hate it if she got more involved; he barely admitted anything to her _now_ and swore her to secrecy about what little she knew. It was his problem, he said. He’d gladly take the bruises, if it meant he could spare his mother, or worse yet, his baby sisters.

 _Always so noble,_ Sarah thought, aching _. It’ll be the end of you one day._

His only saving grace now was that George tended to disappear for months at a time, letting Bucky and his mother breathe easy for a little while. Sarah wasn’t sure she could stop herself from pulling a Steve if George was around more. Those fighting instincts didn’t come from nowhere. 

Bucky clung to her now with near desperation. He needed the comfort, she knew; and he could get it from her without guilt. Winnie loved her boy something fierce, it was true, but she was often nursing her own wounds. Besides, Sarah was sure Bucky didn’t want to make his mother feel like she was failing him.

“I don’t… I don’t wanna become like him,” Bucky whispered to her, still hiding his face in her neck, confessing his deepest fears in the only way he could.

Sarah pulled back, cupped his face in her hands, forcing their eyes to meet. “If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you’re going to be a good man, James Barnes. You’re already halfway there. You just got a little more growing to do,” she finished, smiling. 

He nodded a little, red-cheeked and wearing the smallest of smiles. “Thanks, M– Mrs. Rogers.”

Sarah smiled wider, knowing what the little hesitation had been about. It wouldn’t be the first time Bucky slipped up and called her ma. She patted his cheek once and let go, bending to pick the grocery bag back up. Bucky made a token protest but Sarah wouldn’t hear it, just marched on.

They managed to walk into the apartment with twin smiles on their faces, genuine enough considering the heaviness of their talk before. Steve for once didn’t notice the lingering sadness on Bucky’s face, just happy to have his best friend there with him. Sarah, on the other hand, was just happy to see how much lighter Bucky seemed in Steve’s presence.

Of course, when Steve did finally fall asleep – probably sooner than he would have liked, but a healing body needed rest – she helped Bucky treat his wounds, even going so far as to make him cup of hot coco. Good for the soul, she always said. And if Bucky made a slip up again, called her ma, well… Sarah didn’t comment.

 

* * *

 

 _It’s been a good year_ , Sarah couldn’t help but think as she looked over her Thanksgiving spread; for once, she had actually been able to afford a proper turkey, as well as all the other staples of this particular holiday. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a table so full. 

Steve’s health has been unusually good all year – he’d even been able to hold a job down at the local grocer when he wasn’t busy with school, which left their household surprisingly flush with money. Sarah tried not to hope too much that this was a sign of their luck finally turning. She prayed that, at the very least, her son’s good health remained, that he would grow out of his array of childhood illnesses. He was tiny for his age, she knew, but he was only sixteen, maybe with this health improving he would be able to grow some, add some meat on those frail bones.

They had a special guest to celebrate with them this year; Steve had invited Bucky when he’d learned that the other boy’s family would be out of town for the holiday, visiting distant relatives. Bucky would have gone too, were it not for the money he could make by taking holiday shifts. As it was, the Barnes girls were taking advantage of their rare peace now that George Barnes had finally run off for good. (Bucky had gotten taller and taller the last couple years see and packed on muscle from his time working at the docks – it was only so long that George could intimidate him after that. Although Sarah had never heard the full details, she knew that Bucky had run his father off when he’d raised a hand to one of his baby sisters.)

She was happy to have Bucky with them. As much as Sarah loved having Steve to herself, loved how especially affectionate and thankful he became during the holiday season, she also loved how much laughter Bucky brought with him. Besides, it heartened her to have a fuller apartment during the holidays; Sarah’s family were all still in Ireland and she’d lost contact with them long ago. Being the youngest of seven afforded her little opportunity and little attention so, after her parents had passed on, there was simply nothing left for her over there. Although she didn’t regret her decision to come over on the boats, it was a lonely existence, especially after losing Joseph (who’d been an only child himself).

Bucky’s presence was therefore much appreciated. With dinner almost ready, he set about making both her and Steve laugh, always enthusiastic and big-gestured. Sarah was happy to see him like this; he had far too much responsibility on his shoulders, looking after his sisters and his ma (and her and Steve).

The radio had been playing quietly in the background and suddenly the dulcet tones of Billie Holiday came on.

“Oh, I do so love this song,” Sarah said, tapping her foot slowly along.

Bucky immediately stood, offering a hand. “Can I have this dance, miss?” he asked, waggling his brow for effect.

“Oh, I couldn’t. I have to check on the turkey in a few minutes. Besides a young man like you doesn’t need to be wasting his time on an old broad like me.”

“You ain’t old yet, Mrs. Rogers,” he replied, still holding out a hand, “and I could use the practice! Gotta impress all the other pretty girls.”

“I can check on the turkey, Ma,” Steve piped up from where he lay sketching on the floor, “‘sides, if you don’t dance with Bucky’s ugly mug, he’ll never stop complainin’.” 

“ _Hey_! You ain’t one to talk, with that big honkin’ nose of yours. How many times did you break it again?” 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, boys,” Sarah said with a laugh, before she gave in and put her hand in Bucky’s, “and I suppose I have time for _one_ dance.” 

“That’s the spirit, Mrs. Rogers! We may even get to findin’ you a fella if we keep this up.” 

“James Barnes,” Sarah gasped, smacking his shoulder lightly. At same time, she heard Steve groan ‘ _Bucky_ ’ from across the room. Sarah grinned then, mischievous. “I can find a fella just fine on my own.”

“ _Ma!_ ”

Bucky laughed, delighted. “Yes, ma’am, that you can.”

They started slow, though Bucky began to add in twirls and dips when he realized that Sarah was no slouch when it came to the dance floor. It may have been a while for her, but she a natural knack for it, much like Bucky himself.

And very much unlike Steve, which she realized soon thereafter. Both she and Bucky managed to wheedle her son into trying as well, only for him to trod all over her feet. Bucky had swooped in then, finishing the dance with her and then turning to her son and guiding him into one, showing him how it was done.

(Sarah couldn’t help but laugh heartily at Steve’s red-cheeked expression, but he seemed to get the hang of it eventually. Though she was sure Bucky’s feet would never quite be the same.)

Dinner went well, full of laughter and lightness unlike all the holidays previous. Steve usually got sick around this time of year, so Thanksgiving was normally a quiet affair. This time the mood was so good that Sarah even allowed the boys a glass of wine each, which only made them giggle and bicker more. Sarah watched it all with quiet fondness. She was truly blessed with these two.

She insisted on doing all the washing up herself, wanted to give her Steven a real holiday for once. (Her beautiful, sunshine boy with his too-small body and his too-big heart; she prayed for his continued good health and happiness. She prayed with everything in her.)

Finally done, Sarah exited their small kitchenette only to find two lumps pressed together on her couch. She smiled when she saw Bucky curled around her boy, cuddled together much like they had so many times when they were children, limbs entangled until they were practically one person. Her smile was tinged with sadness, however. 

She should wake them, she knew. They were too old for this sort of affection, for this closeness that now bordered on suspicious.

Sarah knew there was truth to the rumors, of course, knew that the love her boys shared has transcended beyond the brotherly… even if they hadn’t yet realized it.

Maybe she should be disgusted by it, as the Church told her. Maybe she should discourage it, condemn it, as all other mothers would. Maybe she should turn her back on these two wonderful boys, who had done nothing but bring love and love and love into her life.

But she couldn’t.

She _couldn’t_.

How could she turn her back on them? How could she deny them whatever happiness they found in this world, so often cruel and callous?

Maybe she would have done just that, had it not been for Steve’s sickly body. That he lived this long was a miracle – surely God _wanted_ him alive then. And did not God create all of his children in his image? How then could Steve (and Bucky, sweet, loyal Bucky) be wrong?

Sarah had fought tooth and nail for baby boy to live, fought with everything in her that he should live and be happy. For the past ten years Bucky had helped her do so. 

So no, she would never abandon these boys. Her boys. Her sons. 

 _Lord_ , she loved them so.

She would never understand it, not really; her childhood teaching had seen to that. But maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe she could just accept it and turn her eyes away from the obvious; it was the most she could do for them in this place, in this time.

She’d done it once before, when a kind man named Jacob had helped her fix her broken body after one of the lowest, most awful points in her life. Sarah had arrived in this country when she’d been just sixteen, scared and alone. She’d been a simple farm girl from County Cork; hadn’t had the foggiest about the dangers of city. Hadn’t realized what men could do, when they lacked morals. 

When Jacob had found her, she’d been half-delirious, but he’d brought her back to his home and hadn’t touched her but to tend to her wounds. He’d even let her stay a few days, giving her nothing but kindness and understanding and, when she asked for it, _distance_. So, when he came back home one day, in the wee hours of the morning, wearing a dress and calling himself _Sally_ … Well, Sarah had said nothing about it. No, she’d only smiled and said goodnight.

There was kindness to be found in the strangest of places, so Sarah wouldn’t be the judge of her boys. She wouldn’t be their executioner. 

She stared at them for a moment longer, softening at the way Steve snuffled in his sleep, the way he pressed his face closer into Bucky’s chest. Sarah carefully raised the throw they’d tossed on themselves higher, tucking it around their shoulders. She might have run her hand through Steve’s hair, or even Bucky’s, but she didn’t want to risk waking them up. Didn’t want to risk their panic.

So instead, she backed away and went quietly into her bedroom. She was awake for a long time that night. But when she finally slept, she slept deep.

 

* * *

 

Her body was failing her far too early; Sarah knew this, felt it keenly. It was a cruel destiny, but an undeniable one. Frailty was an inherited disease in her family, she only prayed her son would have longer than she did. Thirty-five years wasn’t enough for her Steven. If Sarah made it through the pearly gates, she’d walk up to God himself and tell him just that. Her baby was too good to be gone early from this world; his destiny couldn’t be the same as hers. It _couldn’t_.

(But, in her heart of hearts, she knew it most likely would be. Early death was the legacy she was leaving her son. Sarah hated herself for it, a black thing that ate away at her sickly chest.)

It was getting close to the end now, she realized when her fever-addled mind managed to clear in short bursts. This clarity might have been seen as a positive sign to most, but Sarah knew better; her years as a nurse had seen to that. This was simply the calm before the storm.

Still, it was a blessing; _a last gift_ , she thought, as she realized there were two figures sitting at the side of her deathbed, one deep asleep, the other staring at her with worried blue eyes. Bucky held one of her hands tightly between his own, their callouses matching. (They were callouses that Steve didn’t have, deeper and tougher than the ones on Steve’s pencil-worn hands; Bucky and Sarah had always had an understanding of each other, of the work they put themselves through to keep one bull-headed, golden boy alive.)

She smiled at Bucky, squeezing his fingers with the little strength she had left. Sarah tried to speak, wanted to wipe that awful look off such a handsome face, but her voice came out garbled and rough, throat utterly dry. Bucky let go of her hand only long enough to give her water, his hand gentle around the back of her neck as he held her head up for her.

“Thank you, darling,” Sarah whispered, as soon as he let her back down again, their hands once again entangled. She smiled at it; Bucky had always been a physically affectionate boy, but it was rare that he initiated it with her. 

“No problem, Mrs. Rogers,” he replied, voice equally quiet.

“Now, what are you still doing here? Your mother is surely missing you.”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”

Sarah laughed a little. “Charmer.”

She glanced away from him for a moment, eyes softening at the sight of Steve, his head on the bottom of her bed, resting on thin arms. He looked exhausted, poor thing, and she worried for the slight rattle of his chest. Sarah might have demanded he leave for his health, were it not for the fact that he would never go, not now. _Stubborn boy._ But she didn’t want to argue with her son about this. She didn’t want that to be his last memory.

Bucky seemed to understand her train of thoughts. “The doctors wouldn’t let him through, but Stevie didn’t let that stop him. He just barged right past ‘em, planted himself in that chair and told ‘em they’d have to drag him out kickin’ and screamin’.”

“Oh Steve.” Sarah ached to run her hands through his golden hair, but didn’t have the strength to sit up and reach for her son. Instead, she focused on Bucky. He looked so tired too, more unkempt than she’d seen him in a long time.

Maybe she shouldn’t tell him what she was about to say next, maybe she should keep him free of that burden… but he needed to hear this. And Sarah was selfish; she wanted to free these words caught up in her chest, pressing down on her heart. She lifted her free hand to cup his cheek, this child, this almost-man she’d loved as her own for over a decade.

“My boy, my beautiful boy, it’s almost my time, did you know?”

Bucky shook his head vehemently, eyes suspiciously wet. “No, no it’s not, Mrs. Rogers. It’s not.”

“Hush now, it does no good to lie. I can feel it. It’s my time.”

His voice cracked. “It’s not fair.”

“Perhaps not. But I’ve lived my life as well I could have, my darling. It was made all the better because of you boys.”

Maybe it was the acceptance in her voice that finally got to him, or maybe it was the sudden realization that _yes, this was it_ ; Sarah wasn’t sure. But either way, Bucky’s tears spilled over helplessly, his breath hitching in the worst kind of way as he ducked his head, pressing his wet face into the skin of her hand.

Sarah ran her other hand through his hair, soothing him with gentle shushing sounds. Bucky’s shaking stopped soon enough, his tears slowing though not stopping, not completely. But he looked at her with clear eyes, emotions now brimming under the surface. He understood the gravity of this moment. (People always assumed that because he was talkative that he wasn’t smart, that he was oblivious to the real meaning of things. Sarah knew better.)

She hated to do this to him now, hated to ask what she was going to. But she had to, _she had to_. For her own peace of mind… so she was absolutely _sure_ that neither of them would end up alone.

“You’ll take care of him, won’t you? Even if he pushes you away? My Steven. My miracle boy.”

Bucky gripped her hand tighter and there was untamable ferocity in his eyes, lighting him up. _Loyalty_ , Sarah had always thought, _is his greatest blessing… but also his greatest curse_.

“Of course I will,” Bucky said, voice firm. “I promise. He ain’t ever gonna be rid of me. ”

“Good, good. That’s good. Thank you,” Sarah said, keeping their gazes locked. “I know how you feel about him, you know. I’ve known for a long time.”

The panic on his face was obvious. “Mrs. Rogers–”

“Sh, I need to say this, James. For your sake and mine.” She paused, giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts. “I– I can’t claim to understand it... but I’m not angry. I can’t be angry with you for this. Life’s been harder on you than most; it’s been hard on you both. So, the way I see it, I can’t begrudge you a little light in the dark. Nor can I begrudge Steven a chance at happiness.”

The cautious hope in his eyes was enough to break anyone’s heart. As was his uncharacteristic loss for words. “You… you’re _not_ angry?”

“No, James. I’m not.”

“ _Oh,_ ” he let out, seemingly floored. “And... and you think Steve-?”

Sarah smiled, a small thing. “A mother always knows, darling, a mother always knows. But you must promise me to be careful. The world won’t be kind to you for it.” She remembered Jacob then, kind Jacob who preferred being called Sally, and the day the police had taken him away.

“I promise,” Bucky said, eyes grave.

They were quiet for a moment, then. It was a peaceful kind of silence though, filled with realization and acceptance. Bucky looked more and more determined by the minute, clearly thinking about the boy at the end of her bed. Sarah knew no one would take better care of her son. She may have loved Steve first, but Bucky… Bucky would love Steve best. She found there was no bitterness in her at the thought, only gratitude.

“I never thought I would be blessed to have two sons,” she found herself saying. Bucky looked up at her, eyes wide. “But God, I’m thankful for it. I love you both so much.”

The tears fell faster again, running over his ruddy cheeks; Sarah was shocked to feel her own eyes overflow. Bucky surged forward suddenly, burying his face in her shoulder, ever careful of her broken body even as his arms surrounded her. He clung to her with desperation, letting himself be held and comforted without comment. The last time he’d held on so tight, he’d been fourteen and his ribs had ached something fierce, littered with bruises.

Sarah held him as well as she could, with whatever was left of her waning strength. God, she didn’t want to leave him. Didn’t want to leave Steve, miraculously still asleep through their whispered conversation (but then, he’d always slept deep, his body needing it). Society might call them men now, but they were just boys, seventeen and eighteen respectively. Too young to lose a parent. Oh Bucky would have Winnie and so would Steve, she was sure. But Sarah… Sarah would be gone, unable to help.

Unable to soothe tears, to reassure. To laugh and smile. To love unconditionally.

_God, I don’t want to leave them. Not yet. Not yet. Don’t make me leave them._

“ _Ma_. Mama,” Bucky choked out.

“Sh, James, I’m here.” _For now_ , is what she didn’t say. But Bucky still felt that urgency, pulling back so he could look her in the eye.

“I love you. M’sorry I didn’t tell you before, when you helped me all those times,” he told her, wiping furiously at his eyes, obviously embarrassed by this whole situation but still powering through. _Oh James._

She took him by the chin, shaking him a little. “What did I tell you, darling? A mother always knows.”

He grinned at her through his tears then, bashful and crooked. But he nodded, kissing the back of hand once, before winking at her cheekily.

“Charmer,” Sarah said again, for the thousandth time since they’ve known each other, laughing a little.

They talked for a little while after that, about everything and nothing, until finally Bucky drifted off to sleep in much the same position as Steve. Sarah grinned at the sight, before letting herself join them in slumber, the fever again taking hold of her.

When the time finally, mere hours later, Sarah barely realized it, her mind foggy with pain and exhaustion. But she _was_ aware of two hands holding her own, one with an artist’s fingers, the other tough and calloused like her own. 

 _My boys. My boys_.

She would never remember closing her eyes for the last time. But close they did.

 

* * *

 

Years and lifetimes later, James Buchanan Barnes woke from a living nightmare and said ‘your mother’s name was Sarah.’

He didn’t speak more of the small, strong woman he remembered. Of the gentle hands stroking back his hair, of shocked laughter and the proceeding ‘James Barnes, you charmer’. He didn’t speak of sad eyes and a sickly body and the last words he shared with an impossible, improbable woman.

He didn’t say the other name he sometimes called her, when he needed the comfort of a warm hug.

Bucky Barnes had two mothers in his life; one shared his name, the other did not. Both were forgotten by history, only remaining as names and faded pictures.

But Bucky remembered both. He remembered both.

 _Ma_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was only supposed be 1000 words long and then it turned into this monster... hope you enjoyed it! Was super nervous posting this because it's my first mcu fic (even though I've been reading them for literal years).
> 
> Just some notes/headcanons about this fic I thought I'd share:  
> -I like to believe that Bucky only ever let Sarah and Winnie call him James; anyone else that tried was summarily shut down  
> -Bucky always went to Sarah when he needed comfort from someone but didn’t know how to ask for it; it was one of the biggest things he missed about her  
> -After Steve woke up from the ice, he visited Sarah’s grave on her birthday and the day of her death every year (her gravestone was simple, just said her name, the years she’d lived and ‘a loving mother;); when Bucky came back to him (because he did), he joined Steve and always made sure they dressed nicely to do so (because ‘your ma was a fine lady, Stevie, she wouldn’t want her sons to look like shit when they come to visit her’)  
> -They both hated that neither Sarah nor Winnie were given much attention in any history books and they worked to rectify the situation
> 
> Currently working on a fic all about Bucky's sisters and their relationship with him and Steve (it's already over 20k how) - hope you join me for that one! Thanks for reading :)


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